


Interlude

by sunbreaksdown



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-08
Updated: 2011-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbreaksdown/pseuds/sunbreaksdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redglare, The Dolorosa, and a handful of minutes squandered in an unlocked office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the foundations laid by [Wildcard](http://archiveofourown.org/works/250136)! Using Darkspurn as a placeholder for The Dolorosa's name once again.

     It's a regular work night. Redglare's sat at her desk, glowering down at a stack of paperwork, and the sounds of somebody screaming filter into her office from down the corridor. Nobody she knows personally, she idly thinks; just another lowblood who was unfortunate enough to get on the wrong side of the law. Elbow on the desk's surface, she rests her forehead against the heel of her palm, and gets a good sniff of the page in front of her before licking her way across the report. It's nothing out of the ordinary: two blue bloods are being celebrated for mutilating an unruly rustblood in the streets, while a brown blood is to be executed for raising a blade to a seadweller.

     Redglare leans back in her seat, heaving a great sigh. Two sweeps ago and she wouldn't have thought anything of this. She wouldn't have even felt the compulsion to laugh, because it was all so commonplace; it's just the way things are done. Now that she can tell just how twisted the whole system is, Redglare almost wishes she had been as blind to her enlightenment as she is to the rest of the world. She wants to tear the report into tiny pieces and throw them up over her head like a furore of snow, wants to want to cancel the execution and dismantle the guillotine herself, though the urge to revel in it all is often overwhelming. Instead, she reaches out for the stamp on the corner of her desk, and pounds it down against the paperwork like a gavel. Checked & Authorised, it says.

     At least the pad of ink they've given her to go with it is bright red.

     Two sweeps ago, Redglare would've been marking down the date of the execution so that she could be there on time, taking in the sordid event from the front row. They made her a legislacerator for a reason, because there's a vicious streak running through her that Redglare can't shake, an itch that's only ever been clawed at by a splattering of warm blood. She's trapped in a state of limbo, not able to commit herself fully to the law, constantly wondering how long it's going to take her to slip up, to betray Signless and his ilk.

     Throwing the report into her out tray, waiting for one of her colleagues to process it, Redglare runs her fingertips across the dragon's head carved atop her cane, losing herself in a stream of thought that meanders unpredictably and leaves no room for her to actually focus on anything. For once, she hears a fist rap against her door before she hears the footsteps approach from outside, and she straightens in her seat, brow furrowed. She knows the other neophytes well enough, knows each of their knocks though they might not realise they're assigning a pattern to their greetings and giving themselves away, and this isn't any of them. The person on the other side knocks again, panicked, and that much tells Redglare that this isn't one of her superiors.

     “Come in,” she says loudly, voice not finding enough room in her cramped office to create an echo.

     The handle turns, the hinges creak, and then Redglare's on her feet, cane clattering loudly against the stone floor. It's dark in the block, because no natural light filters in and Redglare doesn't have any use for light of any other kind, but the black surrounding her doesn't do a damn thing to dampen the senses that have guided her up until this part of her life. She can smell mint and lime, arroz verde, sun-bleached grains of sand caught in blackberry hair, trapped between folds of fabric, and she's making her way around the table without thinking to pick her cane back up. The corner catches on the side of her thigh but she barely feels it, because then she's crashing into Darkspurn, unable to even comprehend how this is all happening until she's got her pressed up close, like all her senses but touch are null and void.

     Redglare laughs. She's always laughing, but she feels Darkspurn's arms wrap tightly around her waist, and there's something choked about the noise leaves her throat. It's wonderful and terrifying all at once, because she wants her close, wants her to keep pressing her lips to the top of her head as she murmurs out greetings, but she knows that Darkspurn shouldn't be there. It's not safe for her. Every single night Redglare's chased by rumours about the Signless and his followers, about how they've finally been taken down, and one day, she knows that they're going to be more than rumours. One day, there really will be nothing left but Signless' words themselves, lost to the wind, and then Darkspurn won't be right there in her arms. Redglare tightens her hold.

     Darkspurn presses her hands to the back of her head, smoothing her hair out, and it's been so long since they've been together that Redglare's almost forgotten just how tall she is. It could all be a dream, Redglare reasons as she leans back, bringing up a hand to press to Darkspurn's cheek. This could all be an effect of too much sopor slime relaxing her mind a little too much, but right now, she doesn't care if it's all in her head, because there's nothing running through her every nerve but the tenderness of Darkspurn's lips pressing to her forehead.

     She's wearing a cloak to keep herself hidden, and Redglare can smell it draped across her head, falling in heavy folds. Redglare takes hold of it, carefully easing it over her horns, and that's so much better; she can feel the warmth radiating off Darkspurn's rough, sun-worn skin. There really is no one else like her on the whole of Alternia, and Redglare grins widely, somehow not feeling malicious in her presence, despite the way her razor-sharp fangs don't quite slot together and make her look like a predator.

     “Are you insane?” Redglare asks, hands resting along the edge of her jaw, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, her lips, trying to take in as much as possible at once. “What are you doing here? They'll sniff your jade blood out from a mile away!”

     Darkspurn only shakes her head, and Redglare feels her lips tug into a smile, entirely unapologetic. In lieu of answering immediately, she laughs lightly, and it's such a tender, toasty sound that Redglare doesn't believe that she could ever hope to replicate the noise.

     “We're passing through for—” Darkspurn begins, but then Redglare forgets that she wanted a reply in the first place and slams her mouth against hers. “... not even an hour, Redglare. The others are currently stocking up on supplies, and I told them I had to—”

     _Had to what?_ , Redglare wonders, and belatedly realises that she's the one who's cut Darkspurn off again. As soon as their lips meet and they're kissing, every memory of every kiss they've ever fallen into comes bounding back with startling clarity, making her feel that she's caught up in every moment they've ever been entangled in all at once. The jade from Darkspurn's lips rubs off on her own, and then Redglare's hands have moved down to her shoulders, trying to get the damn cloak off, because all the fabric's creating a numbing heat of the wrong sort between them.

     She shouldn't be giving into her instincts like this. She should be savouring this time they have together, using it for something productive, something other than turning Darkspurn around and propping her up against the edge of her desk. The Checked & Authorised stamp goes flying, but that's alright, she can worry about being neat and organised later when Darkspurn's hands aren't at her chest, unbuckling the front of her shirt with the kind of speed that only the original designer could possess. Redglare would scold herself for not taking the chance to actually sit down and speak with Darkspurn, but Darkspurn parts her lips and lets Redglare run her tongue against her own, and she knows all that she needs to.

     Redglare can read everything in her body language like she's bellowing the words out loud; her body is tense, muscles stiff, and Redglare knows that she isn't the only one who lives in fear every day and night, because Darkspurn wanders out in the open, lets her faith be known to the whole world. She makes a target of herself, and beyond that, beyond worrying about her ward and his disciples, there's Redglare, too. There's no way for them to keep in contact, unless that contact is exactly like this. Letters are too risky, too easy to trace, and Darkspurn lives a nomadic life, none of them ever knowing where they'll end up next. It's been hard for her. Redglare knows that much when she shrugs back her own shirt, breathing heavy, half-words against Darkspurn's lips. She's trying to tell her that she missed her, misses her still because she know it won't last, but all that pass her lips are gasped syllables that might stack together to form her name.

     She knows that no matter how much more she wants, this is all she can give to Darkspurn at the moment, all that she can take from her in return. Her hands press to Darkspurn's stomach, finding it so smooth in comparison to the rough, stiff fabric of her clothing that her fingertips almost can't find purchase. Her own face is turquoise and her heart pounds the inside of her ribs like a gavel and bruises just as hard while her mind spins. She doesn't know where to begin. Redglare wants the whole of Darkspurn all at once, wants her hands against her stomach, chest, running up the inside of her thighs, needs to taste the line of her jaw and the curve of her hip, but she knows there's no time for that.

     And Darkspurn does too, judging by how much she does to spur Redglare on as she sucks and bites at her throat, hips rocking forward as she pushes herself up on tiptoes and tries to grind herself ever closer. Darkspurn lets out a soft moan when Redglare hitches her skirt up, fingers hooking around the edges of her underwear, and all of a sudden, Redglare's veins and fingertips are alive with a fire hotter than the sun. Her breathing is ragged, completely torn to shreds, and when she presses her fingers between Darkspurn's legs, she can't tell which of them lets out the loudest groan.

     “Shhh,” Redglare murmurs right in her ear, eyes fluttering to a close as she feels Darkspurn warm and slick against her fingertips. There might not be anyone in the courtblock with hearing as keen as hers, but that isn't to say that her colleagues are deaf. “You have to keep quiet.”

     It's not something she would've ever pictured herself saying to Darkspurn, but it makes the heat in her stomach twist and coil, and then Darkspurn's nails are dug into her shoulders as she pulls her closer. Redglare doesn't think she has any choice but to push her back and kneel on the edge of the desk as Darkspurn composes herself enough to shuffle back, hovering over her. The desk creaks, slightly uneven on one side, and Redglare doesn't care if they split the surface in two and it falls to pieces. She doesn't care if the whole damn courtblock tumbles to the ground. She may have told Darkspurn to be quiet, but there's no need to tell her to be quick, if this is making her as heady as it does Redglare; as soon as Darkspurn's fingers are pressed between her own legs, sliding inside her with ease, she knows that she's done for.

     She rocks on her knees without even thinking it through to help heighten the effect Darkspurn's fingers have on her, and then drives her own inside her in turn, working as quickly as she can, because there's no holding back now. Redglare pushes her fingers in deep, flexes them inside of Darkspurn, and tries to take in the enormity of her reaction, but her head's spinning so much that she can only discern the larger pieces from the haze of pure pleasure rippling through her. She feels her back arch, hears the nails of her free hand rake across the desktop before she brings it to rest against the back of her neck, and when she tries to kiss her again, it doesn't go far. The two of them gasp and moan whenever their lips part, and so Redglare throws all thought of kissing to the side and buries her face in the crook of Darkspurn's neck.

     It wouldn't be right to say that she she sees bright flashes of colour as she unravels, but the feeling that makes every muscle in her body pull taught and her mind clear until she's certain that she's never had a thought that wasn't about Darkspurn in her life doesn't match up to any of her other senses. She can't even begin to comprehend it, because she's gripped so tightly, and then she's riding it out, slack against Darkspurn on the desk. Darkspurn's lips press to her ear, and Redglare hears her panting and whimpering clearly enough like that, and the sensory overload completely wipes her out as Darkspurn buckles.

     Redglare knows that, logically, she should be trying to catch her breath, but instead she trails kisses all across Darkspurn's face. Darkspurn keeps trying to press their mouths together but never quite manages to keep up with the pattering of Redglare's lips, and at the same moment the haze clears for the both of them and they realise how unforgivably _stupid_ what they just did was. Redglare recalls the paperwork in her out tray, knows that someone could've walked in to collect it at any moment, and then the two of them are pulling their clothes on very, very quickly. Redglare knows that she should scold herself, but she can't help but smile.

     She doesn't ask Darkspurn if she has to leave straight away, not wanting to waste what may well be the last few seconds they have together for perigees upon perigees, and because Redglare makes no attempt to push back the inevitable, Darkspurn allows herself to fall slack in her arms for a few moments more.

     “We write it all down. Every word he speaks, every step of our journey,” Darkspurn whispers against her shoulder, still gripped by the need to keep her voice down. “There are things that I can't explain to you now, Redglare, things that I spend every morning before I go to sleep thinking about telling you and you alone, but we don't have the time now. You'll be able to read it all, eventually. Once the worst is behind us.”

     Redglare hooks a hand under her jaw, tilting her head up. It might be Signless' teachings that she follows and his message that she takes to heart, but it's this woman who reaffirms her faith, who reminds her why she turned her back on the corrupt system spread all around her.

     “Where are you heading next?” she asks, and sounds surprisingly brave, like the thought of Darkspurn leaving doesn't make her temples pound. There's always a chance that she can follow in her wake if she finds some fugitive to track down who vaguely crosses their path.

     “North-west. Across the ocean,” Darkspurn says, and Redglare imagines a glimmer of light reflecting from one of her fangs as she bites on her lower lip, “I know all this coming and going has proven me to be an unworthy matesprit—”

     But before Darkspurn can get any further Redglare is laughing, cackling, really, and it's like nails on a chalkboard. The absurdity of Darkspurn's claim makes her lose herself for a moment, and she knows that there's so much she to needs to tell her. She just has to believe that one day they'll live in a world where the two of them have time for one another.

     “You keep coming back. You stupidly risked yourself for a handful of minutes. That's enough,” Redglare tells her sternly, and feels strange, in a good way, for taking that sort of tone with Darkspurn. She kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, purposely missing each target by a fraction of an inch as if she hasn't already mapped out her face, and earns a laugh for her effort. The both of them know that Redglare can't lead her out, that Darkspurn has to find her own way back, but it doesn't make parting any easier.

     And then barely a moment later she's gone, hood masking her face with blotches of shadow, horns hidden away. Redglare's back at her desk, cane propped back up by her side, and all of a sudden, she feels the darkness in the room creep closer. She rummages around a drawer for a box of matches and lights the oil lamp in the corner of the room, and though the heat slowly seeps from it, nothing feels bright for it.

     It really could all have been a dream, Redglare thinks bitterly; there are only mere moments they get to share together, and they're soon stolen away by the passage of time and the shroud of feigned loyalty she wraps herself in every day. She never forgets certain things, though, can always feel the curve of Darkspurn's smile against the pads of her thumbs, and until the world changes, that has to be enough for her.


End file.
